February 7, 2011

I had a strange dream last night:

This feels like heaven, nirvana. Words do little justice to the impression I am left with. Such….peace. Finally. Finally I feel peace. I can rest. I care not about going any further or to something greater, as this does indeed suffice. I look around……..off in the distance ahead stand silver mountains, dramatically pushing through the white, billowing clouds above & covered in greenery from the foliage and trees growing on them. A light green carpet of grass stretches out in every direction, the simple, beautiful monotony of it broken by the occasional old, twisty tree. I hear the sound of water. I look behind me and a mighty river bubbles up into view, its current rushing along in slow motion, making every glint of sunlight reflecting off the surface seem like diamonds that have been suspended in time. I have nothing to say, I don’t even shed a tear of happiness; the only feeling I have at this moment is peace. Serenity. I feel like I am home again.

I inhale deeply, the smell of flowers filling my nostrils, and I close my eyes. Through my closed lids I detect a shadow come over me and I look up to the sun, now wrapped up in bands of clouds and it pulsates. The clouds quickly engulf it and turn it into an opaque, throbbing ball but I am alright with it. The air has a different sort of feeling to it, but it is still very pleasant. Suddenly, the sun bursts forth from the clouds, turning them to steam, and I explode in flames. I feel no physical pain, but am very aware that my entire body is alight, even my eyes, and I hear the roaring sound that usually accompanies a large fire. I inhale slowly, deeply; a concentrated tingling feeling takes over my limbs & head and the heat is not unbearable-it is consistent but not uncomfortably hot. I walk toward the mountain and, able to see in a 360 degree view, notice the prints I am leaving in my wake. Although I walk with my feet, I leave fiery hand prints behind me, black ones that burn the earth. Nothing smells like it is burning, quite the contrary, I can still smell the flowers everywhere.

Within minutes into my journey toward the mountain, I hear a distant whinnying and look up at the sun, which has now turned black but is somehow still as bright as before and notice a dark, winged creature flying out from it. It takes only seconds to approach me: a beautiful black horse with wings. It dramatically swoops past me, bull snorting out of it’s flared nostrils and takes off back to the sun, kicking it’s legs with every downward thrust of it’s feathery, black wings. It eventually collides with the sun, instantly turning it into the moon, which causes the ground beneath my feet to split, leaving a gap in the ground of about 6 inches or so. I wake up.

December 30, 2010

I had a strange dream last night:

The muffled roar of a small airplane engine fills the cabin while I hold eye contact with an African girl. Her mother is sitting behind her and we are all facing each other trying to pick out the right kind of glasses for her to wear. We find a suitable pair and the noise of the small engine mutes out; it almost feels like zero gravity. The girl starts to tremble, her eyes well up with water and she whispers to me,

“The vampire, the one that plays the piano, is looking for you.”

I ask her to explain but before she can offer one, the plane rocks and begins a plummet to the ground. Three quarters of the way there, an elderly man appears outside of the plane door, opens it, smiles in at us, pushes off and 2 other men appear close by and their parachutes open. I yell out to the girl and her mother that we do not need to worry about crashing, we can just jump out and use our parachutes. However, there is a slight problem: we do not have parachutes. One hundred feet from impact, I jump from the plane into the river below; the impact sends my body reeling with pain. I hold my breath and kick my legs but am sucked further down and out by the sinking plane. I clap my hands together under the water and it sends shockwaves in every direction, catapulting me to the surface.

The water is only thigh-deep for some reason and the ground under it is very smooth and rubbery. A dog appears close by and barks at me to get my attention so I will follow it. I ignore it and notice that another hundred feet or so to my left, the plane that had supposedly thunderously crashed into the water and sank, was peacefully skimming the surface and heading to the shore to be tied up to the dock.

The coast is thick with trees and rising out of the water are towers made of wood and grand staircases. I ascend one of them and make my way to the back room. The room is bare with the exception of a bed made of rock. I piece of wood with a copper wire threaded through the left tip slowly appears in my arms and I carefully lay it on the stone slab, causing a chunk to fall from it and the wire to loosen itself. A child and young adult male appear next to it; their faces plastered with a look of worry. Liam Neeson flickers into place on the stone slab, apparently the father of the two lads. He does not respond to my words and so I lift up his eyelid only to see thick clouds in place of where a human eye should be.

After a few hours pass, he turns back into the piece of wood and I try threading the copper wire back through the original holes. Liam Neeson again appears, this time walking up the stairs and into the back room I am sitting in with his sons. He has amnesia and does not remember who his sons are. I sit him down on the slab and recite pivotal moments of his life in an attempt to jar his memory but I am unsuccessful. Darkness takes over the room and swallows up the two children, stopping at that point, and leaving the light alone coming from my oil lantern. I leave the room, descend the stairs and, walking on the water of the river, reach the shore. I head into one of the stone buildings and am greeted by a few guards who direct me to the eighth floor

Trees all along the coast with wooden buildings sitting on the water–towers. I climb the stairs of one and pick up a tattered piece of wood. There is copper wire that was threaded through the end section and as I got it back to the way it was, a piece of wood fell off, leaving the “head” exposed. Two young men walk up to where I am, with tear-stained faces. Liam Neeson appears on the piece of wood, which has multiplied in size. I am trying to rouse him, but I can see through his eyelids and his eyes are cloudy. He had been in the plane wreck as well. His younger son tries rousing him desperately and I put a hand on his shoulder and motion for him to keep his voice down and I gently repeat Liam’s name. Eventually, I look up and a square window grows into view and through it, I see him walking toward us. When he arrives, his body that is laid out disappears. He has amnesia. His lain body reappears and it merges with the walking one and I tell him that he has amnesia and try mentioning memorable parts of his life. His sons are crying and I leave.

Heading down the stairs, a dog comes up to me but I ignore it as an elderly gentleman tells me what is going on off the coast. It is utter chaos. I am transported inside one of the buildings-concrete, moist, and very quiet. Everyone is rushing about and talking but I hear no noise. I want the dog that had been trying to get my attention but it isnt there now and so I inquire about it and a man points me to floor “, which is downstairs. One level down and I walk along the walkway–cages on both sides filled with animals rescued from the plane crash. They are all housed in large, metal crates and barking, chirping, meowing, and roaring. It is like a depressing Noah’s Ark and I feel pity for all of these abandoned animals. People are rushing about as I make my way around the corner to a doorway. Above it, painted in white is the word “Eighth”. The door cracks numerous times and slowly splinters into a thousand pieces. I walk through the door and wake up.

November 22, 2010

I had a strange dream last night:

I am in the midst of a great city by the water; it reminds me of the pictures I have seen of Venice, Italy, but the buildings are not as tall and there is a prevalent color scheme of light tan all throughout. I look into the water and hear laughter coming from behind me. I spin around and standing there, in a red dress, a dress that is alive and moves on its own, is the succubus that has been in my dream before. I do not know how to respond so I turn around, which infuriates her. She moans, causing me to look back at her, only to notice she has duplicated herself into another 4 . They all moan in different tones and then begin to wail, their pupils fully dilating as they do so. Their scarlet colored dresses begin to flutter and shake, scaring me. I take off running through the city, staying close to the water, and a long chase ensues.

Eventually, having nowhere else to turn, I jump into the water, tossing my phobia of deep water to the wind. They do not come in after me, though one steps down into the water, slowly walking across it to get to me. I kick as hard as I can after submerging myself under the water and like a bolt of electricity, I surge through the water, leaving the city far behind. When I resurface, I am in the midst of the ocean. The city is far back on the horizon but I can still see the succubi easily. They’re growling and hissing at me, panting heavily and squirming.

I not only hear, but I feel a rumbling coming from deep within the ocean. The sound of thunder and roaring ensues, causing tidal waves to crash into one another all around me. I panic but have nowhere to go; my only focus is to keep my head above the water as long as I can. I look beneath me and a silhouette far larger than I can describe slowly moves to the surface. Within minutes, the mass rises from the deep. It is a bridge made of some kind of stone with metal plating in some areas–a metal tinted orange and pink. This is no ordinary bridge (aside from it coming out of the water like every other bridge does as a right of passage?), it makes the Golden Gate bridge appear like a tool shed next to the late twin towers. I look back and the succubi are still there; one of them hurls something in my direction–some kind of fireball. A tidal wave surges up, crashing into it and swallows it whole.

I look back at this bridge as it rises and grab hold onto a gargantuan bolt of some sort. I have the feeling that there is another 30 minutes to go before this structure stops rising from the water. Slowly, I make my way up the side of it, exhausted and losing strength in my arms. All I want is to rest. Another great roaring and rumbling sound builds and I look up to the sky and see a bright flash of light.